Traders
by wwgost
Summary: Reno and Cloud visit an old club with an interesting history, and an impact on their own future.  Warnings for smut, drugs, and sappiness.


**Disclaimers **that I usually forget: I don't own FF7, its characters, the song lyrics, or this computer. Pity me.

Traders

* * *

_I really want it to mean, to matter  
Silver gold wood and leather  
And heaven on my mind_

Jeff Black—Higher Ground

* * *

The place hardly looked impressive, and no features gave away its past. The old bar was a domed hut on stilts near the water, and had once enjoyed a reputation as a sex club back in its heyday. Now, while some came there to enjoy a tryst now and again, it mostly served as a happy hour destination for businessmen and a break for the local fishermen who told stories of the glory days.

Reno and Cloud had heard of the place and thought it would be fun to go there. They pulled up to the bar and ordered a Pink Pussy, a tribute to the place's past. Reno watched the older woman make the drink; it contained four shots of vodka. He made a mental note to sip slowly. He was no pussy himself but one of them did have to drive back and the place was hardly close to home.

"So, tell me a little about the history of the place, yo?" Cloud examined the décor while Reno chatted up the bartender. He was amused. Almost everything represented someone naked. From primitive lower continent art to a beautiful watercolor of a young woman exposing her breasts, nudity was everywhere. He walked up to a column to discover it was actually a carving of a couple making love. Even the bathroom doors were identified by paintings of naked men or women.

Generously endowed ones, at that. He wondered if anyone felt a little intimidated, dropping trou after seeing that on the door.

"Well, it's called Traders because a lot of people used to come here to swing or pick up hookers. Some folks brought their own, of course. Upstairs is the loft, it's shaped where you had a little privacy." She pointed to a railing directly over the bar. "Up there, you could watch the band while you got yourself serviced." She took a drag on a cigarette so long, Reno wondered how she didn't set the place on fire every time she turned around. He looked up and imagined seeing a show here with Cloud.

So to speak.

"We used to have a doorman at the bottom of the stairs, taking gil. Making sure folks didn't get interrupted. Sometimes people still come by to use the loft in slow hours, but I just keep an eye on the stairs myself." She winked at Reno who grinned at Cloud.

"And see that little door at the stair landing? We use it for storage now but we used to have private booths in there, back in the day. You could take a bottle of wine in there and rent the booth for as long as you wanted, you and your date. And do whatever, all night long if you liked. No questions asked. That was our one rule. None of the staff asked questions, no one saw anything, and never any cameras. Ever. Nothing ever happens at Traders, honey," she laughed. "Feel free to take a tour anytime you like. Downstairs under the bar is the smoking area." Reno looked guiltily at his cigarette. "Not THAT kind of smoking."

"Fascinating." He walked over to join Cloud at the window. "You can fuck, you can smoke pot, and none of it ever happens. Can you imagine this place back in the day?"

"Hell with back in the day, did you bring anything?" It was a stupid question, and not one Reno bothered answering. The two of them went down the back stairs and perched on a picnic table by the river. Reno lit a joint and passed it over. They were the only two there, though a poster advertised one of the local bands much later that night. Fenrir gleamed in the sunlight a ways off; they could barely hear the traffic beyond the reeds. Reno cracked the tension out of his neck and took another sip of the neon pink concoction which was, he hated to admit, pretty damn tasty. They chatted between hits, of small things, of what they had seen on the ride down, of whether they would get a room in the tiny riverside inn they had passed rather than drive back up that evening. They would, they knew it. They packed a change of clothes 'just in case.' Sexual tension strung out between them like spun sugar. It always did. It was always there. A birdhouse overlooked the parking lot; Cloud's mildly stoned mind thought it looked like an old man's crooked face.

Reno hit the joint again. "Let's go explore, babe." They walked back up the stairs and by silent agreement, continued up into the loft. Cloud snickered. "Gods, I wouldn't touch that couch in a hazmat suit."

"Ick, me either and I've got some pretty flexible standards on what I will and won't touch on four shots of vodka."

Cloud snorted. "Thanks." He leaned on the rail and sipped his drink. The damn things were served in a quart jar; he suspected it was so that patrons wouldn't be interrupted in their activities to go fetch a refill.

Reno was looking at some of the more explicit artwork, pausing at a particularly instructive piece. He turned and raised his eyebrows at Cloud. "Think we could try that?"

"Not without a trapeze and some physical therapy afterward."

"So little faith in my abilities," he joined his lover at the rail and pulled him into a loose embrace, kissing him along his ear. Cloud put down his drink and wrapped his arms around Reno's waist.

Reno sighed contentedly and paused to take it all in. The quiet, the river, the afternoon sun lighting up the dust motes in the loft, the old sagging furniture. Some veneer was peeling off a cheap end table by the toxic sofa behind them. It all should have been tawdry but somehow it wasn't. He tipped Cloud's face up and kissed him, slowly and very thoroughly, letting him melt against his body like warm caramel.

"Well, she did say she'd watch the stairs for us," he said when they broke the kiss. Damn him, thought Reno. Somehow, Cloud could take a simple declarative sentence and turn it into an aphrodisiac.

"Did you know there's still a vending machine in the men's room for 'assorted toiletries?' " Reno chuckled.

"Gods, I don't even want to know, after the picture on the door. Not that you don't show up everywhere we go with a damn drugstore on you these days."

"Turk preparedness, yo." It was getting more and more difficult to talk. It wasn't that Cloud was doing anything, just the gentle swaying against him and the half lidded look of desire he was sending up into Reno's brain. Or what was left of Reno's brain. Kissing the man was easier, and a hell of a lot more pleasurable. "I picked up strawberry, cherry, vanilla, and coconut. Didn't know your preferences."

Cloud had to laugh. "Please tell me you are your usual well prepared self and brought unscented. That stuff has probably been around since disco."

"I did. But are you sure you don't want…" Reno pulled the single-use lube packages out of his pocket, all decorated with neon fruit pictures. "Only the best for you, baby!"

"Ummmm…maybe later. Really. Strawberry? Later," he laughed into another kiss, which turned passionate, hard, fast. Reno had begun to stroke him with painful lightness through his clothing; he took his revenge by grinding his hip into Reno's now obvious erection. The reaction was most gratifying. They stood together like that for a while, torturing each other, neither wanting to stop. "Gods, I want you. You must think I'm easy."

"Nope. Know it." Reno worked loose Cloud's belt buckle and shoved down his jeans, bending him gently over the rail and, by request, pulling out the unscented lube. Though if he'd had his choice he'd have picked vanilla.

"Um, wait. What about…" He looked directly down onto the bar. Wordlessly, Reno handed him a stack of beverage napkins he'd picked up before going outside. Gods knew, they didn't want the bartender to get _that_ kind of surprise. That question taken care of, he pressed easily into Cloud who moaned in relief, loving the familiar ache of being filled by his lover.

Reno grasped his hips and moved in and out of him at a leisurely pace. Something about abandoned loft and the lazy river outside made him feel like taking his time. "Love you," he whispered. But pleasure was beginning to pool in his groin and he knew he wouldn't last long.

From the sound of Cloud's gasping breath, he wasn't alone. He leaned over and whispered "Ready?"

"Oh hell yes." Reno had to grin at the enthusiasm. He reached around and clasped his hand with Cloud's, pumping him in unison as they reached their climax together. He muffled his shout in the back of Cloud's neck and held on to him until he was sure his legs weren't going to give way.

Cloud drew a shaky breath, loosened his one hand's white knuckle grip on the railing. He wadded up the napkins and tossed them in a nearby wastebasket, and grinned up at Reno. "Well, I guess it's nice that we could bring the old place back to it's heyday for a few minutes."

"Yeah." Reno waited a minute, recovering. It never ceased to amaze him how Cloud could walk, speak, drive only seconds after orgasm. Maybe the man had a second brain or something. Reno still felt like a quivering amoeba. Hell, he was afraid to try the stairs, but needed another drink and didn't see an alternative.

"You boys enjoy your tour?" the bartender asked with a knowing gleam as they reclaimed their seats.

"Yes, ma'am." Cloud responded without so much as a blush and passed Reno his drink. "It's a lovely bar. I'm sure we'll be back sometime soon."

"Cheeky little bitch," Reno muttered under his breath. They took their drinks over to a window seat and leaned into each other while admiring the scenery. Ideas had been cooking in Reno's brain for weeks, ideas of making things a little more…permanent. Or more accurately, legal. Nothing could be more permanent than his feelings for Cloud. He wondered when he would manage to bring the subject up. The words kept tripping over his teeth somehow.

Yet, he knew there would never be anyone other than Cloud. He pressed his face closer into Cloud's neck, into his hair, memories of what they'd just done upstairs swimming in his mind. He held him tighter, just for a moment.

He noticed that the afternoon light was the same color as Cloud's hair. The bartender polished the already perfectly clean bar—Reno suspected it was pure habit—as the radio station played oldies. Time froze, like insects in amber.

"Marry me."

Cloud smiled. And didn't look terribly surprised. "Of course I will."


End file.
